


Together

by thegreatandpowerfultoaster



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Grey Wardens, Infertility, King Alistair, Only sort of shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 00:45:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12619288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatandpowerfultoaster/pseuds/thegreatandpowerfultoaster
Summary: Cailan and Alistair aren't as similar as Anora had thought. They'll work it out.





	1. A Crack

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wingless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingless/gifts).



> Hello! I am so exited to give this to you! It was something that didn't at all go the way I had planned, mostly because my life has been a wreck for two months. Still, I'm glad that I got this paring and I got to wrote this. I hope you like it!

It was good.

It was good that he sat on the throne to appease the people, and she say on the throne to rule. The Warden had really known what he was doing, Alistair suspected.

Anora had been born to govern, that much was clear to him, simply through the way she held herself, or the way she spoke. It was far more evident in the way she talked to people like Eamon. Sure, he was learning more and more about this Kingly stuff each and every day, but even then it didn't compare to her whole life of that. Alistair respected her-His wife.

They were not equals by any means, they hardly even spoke these day, how could they be? And the respect, he was certain was not something that went the other way, but that was alright. He didn't mind, by now, he was pretty used to it. 

Most days she slept in an entirely different chamber than him, after complaining for a good week about the stench of dog. After one of the longer, rougher days, though, he would always find her in their bed, reading a large book, looking over a map she had laid over her lap like another blanket, and very rarely, snoring softly, drooling on his pillow.

"Excuse me." He had been just as tired as she was, and after was must've only been a week, was not really ready to share drool, or even a pillow. "I know you must be exhausted and all, but would you kindly refrain from spitting on my pillow?"

Her weary glare had made it evident that she didn't find the entire thing nearly as funny as he did, but she did move over anyways. He'd only began to fall asleep himself when Anora's voice jolted him back to a semiconscious state. "Where's Barkspawn?" His tired brain was not even certain what she meant by that. When he had asked for clarification she'd rolled over to face him with her deadpan expression. "Barkspawn. The dog?"

"Oh..yes, him. Amell wanted to take him on the hunt for Morrigian. Or something." Was she really asking about Barkspawn? She'd never seemed to show an interest before. 

"I just..." She sighed and seemed to give up talking. "Goodnight, Alistair." She had returned to her somewhat cold and distant demeanor.

Why did that make him so upset? "Goodnight, Anora," he relied softly.


	2. I Had Thought

Was she...was Anora truly crying? Her arms were wrapped around Barkspawn, sobbing into his scruff. Alistair had never seen her cry before. Seeing it made him feel...weaker, maybe was the word? She was so strong...and...

He didn't want to intrude, not with everything in his brain screaming about just how bad of an idea this was. He lingered in the doorway for only a moment longer before sitting down on the for beside her. "Are you...are you okay?"

Her once cold eyes, now full of tears and a sort of hopelessness looked him over carefully. Twice. "I had though, just for a moment..." She pauses to breath in deeply, attempting to regain some composure. "That you were him."

Him?

Like...Cailan-his-half-brother him? Or some him he didn't know about?

"Your eyes are the same color," she sniffs finally. "And your jaw is almost the same. But that is where it stops, really. It was foolish, I am tired." And like that, she has snapped right back into defensive mode. "You must speak in front of the Bannorn this morning, correct?"

He nods, slowly. In an hour, maybe less. But he wants to help her, really. He isn't Cailan but maybe he can do something. "Did you...did you love him?"

Her eyes narrow, and more tears roll down her rounded cheeks. "Of course I did. He was not perfect--no one is--but that didn't change anything." She breaths in again, and her hardened eyes soften. "I apologize. It has been...a very long week."

He agreed with her, quietly. Between all the Nobels visits and plans for rebuilding, this was more or less the longest he'd had a moment to himself all week. "Do you maybe want to talk about it?" Alistair was certain that she wouldn't....but maybe...


	3. To Hear

It remained quiet for nearly an Age. "If you would truly care to listen," said Anora. "Then yes, talking would be...good."

At least he's offering, even if he doesn't really want to know. That's far more than anyone else can say that they do. She doesn't really know him all that well, but even then, she guesses that he is a good listener. 

Alistair's face splits into a wide grin. "I want to hear," he reassured her.

Where to even begin. "There are...rumors, floating around. About my...health." About...the future of Ferelden, about an heir, about a mistress that can't possibly exist. It is not the rumors that worry her. It is what the Bannorn intends to do about it. 

She thinks she sees a shadow if sadness flicker through his tender eyes. "I can't... Do that, either, so if they bother you...let me remind them." Oh. That is...a relief, yes. Next time they try and touch her, or try and slip fertility herbs into her tea, she wall remind them that even if their miracle cures were to work, she is not the only problem in this equation. 

He is a Grey Warden, as is her father, and suddenly, she remembers what her father had hinted at to her in a private conversation, and she wonders how long they will both last. She asks him. 

"Thirty years, maybe," he guesses somberly. His tone brightens considerably. "Why, broken up about it already?" 

No, she has told herself again and again that she does not care what happens to him in the end. But...never had she truly believed it. "Maybe," Anora replied flatly. 

Alistair frowned. "Can't you be open with me? I really thought that we'd gotten past the whole awkward part of this where we can't be honest."

Anora looks at him again for far too long. Perhaps its time to give up, and let someone in. "A-alright. You're right. I haven't been all that accepting of you, have I?"

"Well..."

"Don't answer that." She half snapped. "I don't really want to hear it, Alistair. I...I think that I'd miss you, yes. And I think that we need-" she sighed slightly. "I need...to try and let you help me more."

His frown turned to a small smile. "Okay. Maybe you can show me how to...lead, y'know. ?"

Barkspawn has realized, finally that none of his people are paying attention to him anymore and nuzzles their hands, and they both start to pet the Mabari again, until his hand brushes over hers and instinctively she jerks back They'll figure it out, sooner or later.

Maybe he's not as much like Cailan as she'd thought.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also at goodmorningaperture.tumblr.com


End file.
